THE WANDERING MINSTRELS
103
The sunlight is dead in the air,
Stars burn in the dusky sky,
The minstrels stray on, while the moon
Mounts up to her throne on high,
Kind nature is spreading her dews,
Like a mist of tears they fall.
Dear Dame, dost thy pitiful heart
Weep at the weird music's call?
Stars burn in the dusky sky,
The minstrels stray on, while the moon
Mounts up to her throne on high,
Kind nature is spreading her dews,
Like a mist of tears they fall.
Dear Dame, dost thy pitiful heart
Weep at the weird music's call?
